Her Mother
by GothamsCat
Summary: Maria and Alfred spend some alone time together after dinner at Wayne Manor, and decide they like each others company. Features some dark themes.


**"You may love a stray, but you can never keep them."**

 **-Catwoman #4**

It was close to two in the morning when his old eyes shot open and for a second his heart jumped from panic. Unaware of where he was with his fingers ruffling empty sheets; just in the dark of some room with the door shut and the curtains drawn back. Total darkness split in sheets of black from the pale of the full moonlight. Yet, he settled soon enough feeling the weight of a human body along his chest. A woman, slowly remembering who he'd been with and what they did. Her mother. Chest rising against his, perfect thin fingers laid to gentle rest against his chest, her all too fragile and thin body folded into his. Their scars fitting together in all the right places. Her leg was curled over his with her head and hair resting in the crook of his arm that was folded over her bare back.

His fingers curled into her flesh, gently as he tried to recall how it happened:

They had been dancing... in the kitchen when he really should have been putting the dinner dishes away. However, a classical song that he was once so deeply in love with had come on the radio station provided by the stereo in the kitchen. He'd been humming along with the tune in quiet solidarity when she caught him—started helping with the wash. Soon, getting caught along the skin on his forearms. His sleeves in particular which normally would have been rolled neatly to his wrists where now drawn back to his elbows. Not even the soapy, slick coating along his skin could hide the scars. He caught her staring for a moment, but had nothing to say, though grateful as she was equally silent, and touched with he watched her pulling up her own sleeves—revealing a lot of her own scars to share. While his were thick and deep, hers where thin and jagged across the skin. Disappearing as she plunged her arms deep into the dinner filth.

Almost, he wanted to stop her. She was a guest and his was his job to take care of things, but her kindness made him smile so he let it go and pointed to the drying rack where she could place the dishes once she was done. She cleaned them slowly before putting them on the rack to dry, starting to hum the same classical melody along with the radio. The sound excited Alfred to hear coming from her lips, so soft and sweet. Sounding as though she'd heard it before and was quite found of it herself. And it was at that moment he found himself uttering the words: "would you care to dance, Miss?"

She threw up her head in question as though she hadn't heard him. Perhaps even, the notion of dancing was unknown to her. Though, once she gave him a reply it was he who was confused.

"Hm? Oh no, I don't know how to dance." Again her head was back towards the soapy riptides of the basin. Fingers working vigorously under the water where he could not see.

"Well surly someone as lovely as yourself has danced once or twice in her lifetime?" he inquired.

She smiled, his words peeking deep interest. "Are you flirting with me, Alfred?" she wondered.

"Indeed a am," he almost whispered. He couldn't deny it.

She smiled bigger, dropping the plate and cloth that were previously occupying her hands. She reached for his under the water where he pulled her hands into his before lifting the pair to the surface.

It was a simple one-two step waltz about the kitchen. Weaving through the counters and chairs that Alfred had set aside to give them more space. Their steps ever so little as Maria skilled herself in the art of moving her feet around with his. Going quicker as she got the hang of it and soon the pair of them were swaying together with laughter. Alfred twirled her around in a circle and couldn't help himself but lean her down and kiss her on the lips.

He pulled her up as she smiled against his breath, just about to apologise before she threw skinny arms around his neck and said:

"Now if you wanted to do that again... I wouldn't mind." Kissing him deeply he was thrown into love all over again.

Later that night, as he was reading before bed in the privacy of his bedroom, there was a knock at the door. The knob turned and the flickering flame of a candle peeked from around the corner held by dainty hands. He brightened without meaning to, straighten himself up and closed his novel respectively while he beckoned her inside where she made herself comfortable upon the edge of his bedside. Setting the candle on the nightstand he noticed there was already a drop of wax trailing down the shaft.

"What brings you in... Miss Kyle?" He slowed himself at the last part. Almost getting lost in her name while his eyes floated away in all the parts of her he found beauty. He regained himself well.

"Are you settling in well? Do you need something to drink?" He was almost up in a rush to find something that would aid her but her hands were faster.

"No, I'm alright," she waved. "I wanted to talk for a bit." Her eyes gazed down to his beside novel. A detective story, she gathered. The Word is Murder. "If your not busy."

He had to stop himself from smiling. Though, if he did he wouldn't be ashamed one bit. "No, I'm not busy at all."

He stared at her eyes but all she could look at was her hands. Slender fingers toying with the rings around them. Pulling them up to her knuckles and sliding them back down again. Here it is. He thought. _Another rejection._

"I see the way you look at me," she said with a smile. "Alfred, you're a sweet man but... I'm not who you think I am." She looked disappointed, still toying with her rings.

He was confused, lips and tongue articulating the only thing he could say. "Oh?"

"I'm a liar and a thief," she clarified. "I'm a bad mom. And you..." she motioned her hand towards the closed door. "look at all you've done for Bruce. He's a wonderful kid."

"I didn't raise him," Alfred said. "That was his mother and father. It was he who shaped who I am. And I am a better man for it, Miss."

"I've done things." she said. "I am things." She stared directly at him, "you're a nice man, Alfred. You deserve better then me."

"Miss K—"

"Maria," she corrected him. "Please, you can call me, Maria."

It was strange to think of her name across his lips. The sweet articulation of the letters on his tongue and he thought about the deep desire to be close to her. To hold her. To touch her. To do nothing but sweet and kind things to her. Then, he was beginning to realise what he was feeling for her were feelings he hadn't had in the longest time; after his first and only love had passed away before his eyes. But now, those feelings were there again and so real just as before, slowly piecing into realisation from the moment she'd hugged him and the flutter he felt in his chest. The wanting of something more.

But now the feeling was something else. Something almost familiar, right in the deepest pocket of his trousers. It came to him amongst the clouds in his mind, the fingers snaking inside his pocket. The feeling of fingers he could now recall, tightening around the silver shine of his fathers old watch. The one he bestowed to Alfred right before he passed away. He wanted to smiling, feeling her trying to steal it again, but he didn't, for he didn't want to give his knowledge away. So he let her have it as he stared into her green eyes and waited until she pulled the ticking clock from his possession, reached for it with tender fingers and grabbed on while wrapping the chain around his wrist. He half expected her to let go when he pulled, but half wanted her to hold on—which she did as he pulled the two of them together.

Her tongue tasted like alcohol. Wine, a deep red that had been hiding in the basement. A little too much, too. Like she'd snuck more then one glass over what she'd had with dinner. It was bitter, yet sweet. Sweeter with her fingers along his and the watch between their palms. The ticking measuring the seconds between them grew faint when Maria took the watch from his hand and instead of making off with it, put it aside on the nightstand. Now, taking his face with both hands she traced the wrinkles around his forehead and cheeks. She kissed each one.

As she kissed him her right hand slowly drifted away below the sheets where her fingers toyed with the leather belt around his trousers. Seemingly remembering a time in the back of her skull where belts served more of a purpose then just to hold pants up. But her hand was seized away quickly before she could finished the thought, feeling Alfred shift under her with a murmur, "I can't do that," thinking of Bruce and Selina.

Maria smiled against his lips, laughed just a little bit and agreed. "Neither can I," thinking of her HIV as she pulled her arms around his neck and kissed him harder. "Take this slow?" He nodded against her forehead.

"Should we turn out the light?"

She considered it for a second before reaching over and turning out just the lamp light, leaving the candle light lit. Then, she positioned her legs around his waist as she started to unbutton his vest and shirt. Taking her time to see the little hairs on his chest peek out, following the thick scars covering his abdomen. Jagged and mean, ugly and dark. The wounds of a man who would never tell, a reflection of the man he used to be.

And though they almost gave her pause she did not turn away and leave him alone as he secretly feared. Yet instead, she kissed each one, tracing the rest with her fingers. The delicacy of her touch made his breath go weak and he shivered as she counted them all the way down.

She kissed his chest and his neck, and when she pulled the clothing free from his shoulders he held her arms and started to kiss her face the same. She leaned into him while his lips touched her checks, her eyes, her forehead never realising the tears down her face until he kissed them too. A salty sweetness on his lips. Down her neck to her collarbone while his hands touched the skin under her shirt; black, soft cotton. And when he started to pull the fabric away her fingers snatched the hem and the soft feeling was gone. So was the passion when he opened his eyes and saw the dark, black bruises across her body. Indented deeply along her flesh under her breasts and across her stomach. He grew angry as he gripped onto her arm as softly as he could.

"Who did this," he wanted to know. "Who hurt you? Tell me," he demanded, his voice as tough as it was soft.

"No," she groaned. "Don't worry about it, it was no one." Taking his face again she tried to kiss him but he moved away.

"Somebody did this to you," he pushed.

"Please," she begged him. "I can't stay. So can we please just let this last? Just just you and me?" Desperate sounding as though her dream might end Maria had a gentle hand over his chest to keep him there. He put a hand against her back in their moment of silence; Maria did the same but instead of connecting her hand with his her fingers drifted upwards toward her bra strap. Nimble, she unclasped the hook, letting the straps fall off her shoulders with easy; swiftly taking one and tossing the garment onto the floor. She bit her lip. Her breasts hung over her chest as they naturally should, but once long ago didn't hang as low. Her belly, which used to be tight and thin from starving herself into starvation now had a tiny bit that sagged just a little from where her two children used to lay. And the scars mixed in between the bruises both self-inflicted and not now decorated skin that once was so perfect. Deep cuts marked in slashes along her skin were what Alfred saw. He touched her arm, noting the marks and bruising from an obvious drug habit, the blue veins that seemed to stick out, and the deep cut along her wrist from her last attempt. He traced it with his thumb and Maria finally pulled herself away, hiding behind her hand, ashamed.

She almost retreated the scene if it had not been for Alfred's kind hands that tucked a wave of her hair behind her ear. A pale yellow in the daytime, but a deep gold in the night. He touched her chin and encouraged her closer while snaking his arm along her wait. Kissing her again and drawing her form into his before then he used his leg to roll her around in the covers. Pressed against the soft sheets Maria snuggled while Alfred started over from her chin to her neck, along protruding collarbones and over her arms like landscapes. Touching the drug marks and the thick scar along her wrist to her fingers and every sliver ring she wore upon them. His hands traced along her breasts brushing beneath them with his thumb while his lips brushed her nipples causing her to react. Her fingers flew into his hair while he kissed her scars and navel. The toying she did with his scalp made him feel entirely relaxed; his shuttering breath made her smile. And when he regained himself he was back to kissing her belly... going lower.

"Is this alright, Miss," he mouthed against the waist of her jeans.

She smiled with laughter and bit her nail. "You always this polite?"

He started to undo the button on her jeans ignoring her little tease. Pulling the legs down slowly with tender care as he removed them and set them beside the bed. Then his fingers reached under the hips of her undergarments, and his eyes watched her as she swallowed deep.

"Alfred?" she said low.

"What?" he stopped himself.

"What are we doing?"

He looked at her with tired eyes and almost laughed. Smiled a tad and then sighed completely. "I think... we're enjoying each other company."

Maria grinned teasingly. "Well can't you enjoy my company from up here?" She beckoned him closer with her finger.

He crawled up to her, kissed her soft lips and pulled her against him, fitting the sheets over the two of them with a free hand.

"Can I be honest?" she whispered, as though she was afraid the kids would hear them.

"Of course." He kissed her temple, brushed back a bit of hair and looked deep into her eyes where weariness was sudden.

"I'm tired," she moaned, nuzzling under his chin.

"I can see that," she said. "You want to rest now?"

"Yes," she replied. "

"Can't be doing that anyway," he joked. "Too old, going to have a heart attack or something." He watched her lips part in a smile.

" _You're_ going I have a heart attack" she repeated mocking him. "I'm the one that's going to have a heart attack."

"These kids will make you age quick," Alfred joked. "I look after the pair of them."

"Wouldn't know," Maria murmured. Waiting the second Alfred had shut his unknowingly tried eyes and slipped free from his arms. She had awoken him suddenly but couldn't see for her back was turned to him while she slipped naked out of the remainder of her clothes. He could see thick marks along her back. Red lashes thrown along her shoulder blades and spine, his hands turned quickly into fists within the sheets having no where valuable to turn. She turned slowly and even through the candle's burning flame he could see the dark lines drawn against her legs and the flourish of public hair between them. He could see the piercing green of her eyes while she watched him watch her, which made him soften. The way she fluffed out our her long hair which came down to her breasts, their perfect dip and curve along her chest. Her silhouette entirely lovely against the window with shutters closed—he felt the familiar flutter in his chest.

She returned, scratching the silk sheets with her nails while Alfred reached for the buckle of his trousers before she brushed him away.

"Let me," she whispered.

"Someone hurt you..." he tried to say again.

"I'll make you a deal," she reasoned. "I'll tell you a story of mind if you tell me one of yours." Her fingernail traced one of the deep scars running from his abdomen to his waist. Shivers ran up his spine and back.

Leaning back he watch her easily pull the belt buckle from its place. "Controlling little thing, aren't you?" half-smiling as he observed, moving himself in a way to help her remove the belt. Which he noticed as she was trying to pull it free from his trouser straps.

"So tell me Alfred," his belt was free and to the floor with a loud clang. "Did anyone ever touch you... _inappropriately_?"

Her words came to him just as she was fondling with the button. He was confused at such an odd and bizarre question that he didn't notice when she was pulling the button from its loop, and that he had tripped over a memory so faint and stumbled over his own breath. He choked while she slowly pulled the button free and his trousers following suit. All the way down feeling his legs and toying with the follicles of hair about his body.

"Actually, Miss..." he words came out shaking in a way he couldn't control. She paused, just above the hair covering his pubic region. "With a broomstick," he clarified. And soon he felt the confession spilling out of him. He wanted to tell her everything.

He paused. Hand over her's to stop her from reacting as he continued.

"It was the butler from the neighbours. Seemly nice fellow for years. We were moving that day..." he kept his voice low and tried to posture himself, but Maria's tender touch against his skin caused him to settle back down onto the sheets. "I was six and he told me not to say anything. I ran home to my mum and pop and I didn't say anything. For forty-seven years I didn't breath a word. I never told a soul."

He realised it then how he'd begun crying with the tears chocking up the last bit of air he had. How Maria had pulled him close to suppress the sobbing that was suffocating him, but the tears rolled horribly in the memories of a six year old boy. And those tears coated her breasts making them glisten. Though his eyes were fixed too tight to see. His fingers digging in her waist, her teeth digging into her lip. Holding his breath and refusing to breath like he'd just been shot several times in the gut. Breathing was painful and he was afraid to cry out, for when he did he'd known there were more soft tears to follow. And the petting of his hair seemed like the screaming of many men, though when he opened his eyes he saw it was only Selina's Mother. Sweet, Maria petting the top of his head to sooth him like he was a child who'd awoken from a terrible nightmare. He breathed deep and found stillness.

"Better now?" she murmured from over him.

He nodded under her chin and tried to whisper the words: "I'm sorry," but they only seemed to come out clumsy.

"I'm sorry you felt you couldn't tell anyone," she finally said as she felt his fingers caress her back. Tracing the scars of her own and silence. She remembered each lashing and each dark, ugly mark every-time she looked in the mirror.

"They were just some friends," she whispered trying to keep up her end of the bargain. "Long ago, before Selina was ever born. They just liked to play... a little too rough."

He nuzzled his lips to her chin. "Is that right?"

"Every word," she leaned down.

"I gather you like it then." She smiled against his lips that were teasing her with those words. Feeling him shake in her arms but having the boldness to find jokes. Trying to be funny instead of the serious angry she knew he wanted to be. She would have laughed if sleep had not fallen so harshly over her.

"I like this a lot more," she said. He kissed her breasts some more, over to her shoulder and moving upward to her lips. She rubbed his calf full of muscle with her foot, touching the tender spots of her flesh with her fingers and tracing the battle scars of tissue with her nails. Finally hooking her left leg around his waist and rocking their bodies together.

"You're showing your age, old man," she teased.

He ignored her flirtatious joke, though, it didn't go unnoticed. "Lovely," he said finally brushing back her hair. His thumb brushed her cheek, finally reaching down for her hand which he caressed into his own before bringing it to his lips where he kissed her perfect fingers.

"You know..." Maria quipped, "you and I? It's a one time thing," she whispered dazzling against his tender affection. Just beyond the line of sleep she felt Alfred lean into her ear and whisper:

"Who says it has to be?"


End file.
